Dear Fred
by BackCornerKid
Summary: Written to my deceased twin. From, George.   Rated T for mild language.


Dear Fred,

This is stupid.

Sincerely,

Forget it…..

P.S.

It took staring at those eight words for hours to realize that I'm completely mental. Mental because I'm writing to you and you will never read this. Mental because I don't know what to say. You're dead. So, why in the bloody hell am I putting myself through a pain that no wizard or demon could ever curse me with?

Forget it.

I wish I was dead.

I wish I took your place.

No.

I wish you were still here. The bed next to mine is so cold and empty…ghastly, really. I can't even look at it sometimes. It's haunting how empty it is. I can relate.

Anyways, I'm sure you don't want to listen to me whine like a pathetic git anyways. It's not like you can even hear me. So forget that too.

Mum is mechanical now. She barely listens, too busy with her mindless cleaning and knitting. Well, it's not as happy as it sounds. She does it to keep from breaking. She doesn't even glance at me when I come home. I guess we are too much alike, but I always thought you were better looking. Dad has been much quieter lately.

Actually, the whole Weasley house has been quiet. Ginny, the darling, has been the only one who tries to keep me strong, but I keep brushing her off like a bastard. The girl is charming. Her determination is hard to beat. I blame it on her hair. She's fiery like mum. You know that her and Harry become closer. Yeah, they are dating now. You owe me 10 galleons. That's a total of 436 galleons, 258 sickles, and 4 knuts.

Wishful thinking….

Bill and Fleur are expecting, so that's wonderful, I guess. I can't really say much because I haven't seen him around often. He's continuing on with life and creating new red-headed gits.

Percy is better, maybe? He's been coming home more often, and he's not as prefect-y like he use to be. Who knew that prick had a bit of generosity in him? Although, I can't help but get annoyed every time he stares at me. He has that look of pity and guilt for Merlin knows why, but I think it has something to do with him always being the back-end of a blast-ended skrewt.

And Ronnekins…well, he's been coping, for lack of a better word. He's been generous enough to not speak your name around the home, but he's been too careful to the point where it will be three to five days before I even hear a single word come from his mouth. He tip-toes around the house like a bloody mouse, but I guess his quiet demeanor has been a plus. He never comes to the shop anymore.

Which reminds me, the shop has boomed since the demise of You-Know-Who, that snake bastard. Anyways, it's become quite popular with the first and second years, especially the puking pastilles. Anything to get out of class, kind of like how we use to, mate. Except, dungbombs were our choice of weapon.

So, that leaves me. Am I still considered a twin since your dead?

Why? Why did it have to be you? I miss you so much…

Sorry about the wet splotch….

Some nights, it feels as if my heart is trying to rip itself from my chest. It hurts and my body feels like ice. I want to roll over and die, but all I can do is curl into a ball like a baby. One morning, I woke up with scratch marks on my torso. I hardly remember doing that, but the internal pain was more than the external.

Then, there is the awkwardness. When I try for a joke, there's no one to complete it or to even attempt to laugh. I wait for our mind link, only to realize the jolting pain when no one laughs or speaks with me. And those moments, those moments when I forget that you are dead to only turn around to empty space. Those are the worse. The apartment above the shop has been feeling more and more of prison, and I have the burning sensation to move far, far away. But, I'm so terrified of moving your shit, to wipe away your memory.

Once, I was dazed and crushed, only to wake finding myself clutching one of your horrid knitted sweaters in my arms, trying as hard as possible to soak it into my skin. I was in your unmade bed, crying and shaking. I never have shook so hard in my life. It still sends shivers down my spine. I thought I was going to break into tiny pieces, and the only thing that was saving me was your sweater.

I have to be honest with you, Fred. Some days, I pretend that you never existed, and some days I actually believe it. I pretend that you were my alto-ego that acted exactly like me, but when I come back to reality, it only makes me hurt worse because I was trying to forget you.

My brother. I'm so sorry.

It's all my fault. I'm the reason why you are dead.

It's all my fault.

It's all my fault.

DAMN IT ALL!

I can never be complete without you. You had the key to my other half. Silly, I know.

What I'm really trying to say is that I will never forget you, brother. I mean, how could I? I'm sorry for letting you die. I'm a terrible person. I'm a horrible twin. All in all, Frederick, I love you. I miss you, and I don't think I will ever stop missing you. The hole in my heart is permanent. There will never be a time to be Gred and Forge again. Only George this time.

Sincerely,

Mischief Fucking Managed


End file.
